


you will burn right through

by threefouram



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Red & Green & Blue & Yellow | Pokemon Red Green Blue Yellow Versions
Genre: Green-centric, M/M, Namelessshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threefouram/pseuds/threefouram
Summary: "This is your fault.""Okay."





	

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting a NamelessShipping fanfic. (Green is the guy, not Blue.)

"I hate this. What am I living for?" His throat goes dry, and he tries to compensate, swallows three times.  
  
The unsteady in his jaw begins to feel like an earthquake. His fist curls into itself, tight like the gritting of his teeth. (The corners of his eyes burn red; anger, frustration. The corners of his eyes burn red; he is so _sick_ of the color red. It can go fucking  _burn_ elsewhere.)  
  
There is a weight on his chest. He can feel his rib cage begin to fracture.  
  
He is seething. If he drove a knife into his heart right now, his blood could corrode metal.  
  
" _WHAT AM I LIVING FOR?_ "  
  
He has two fistfuls of that red vest all bundled up in his hands. He pulls at it as his eyes clench shut. "What am I living for, Red?" Three more swallows and half a sob. "What are you living for? What are we..." He lets go of the tension hiding in his bones, shoves the other man backwards. His eyes try to focus, on red eyes and raven hair and keeping his tears at bay. The breaths he takes are shaky, uneven. His jaw tightens as his eyelids fall halfway. " _...living for?_ "  
  
He rams his forehead into the other's neck, breathes into his collar bone.  
  
He can feel his exhales collecting in the room. His vision gets hazy.  
  
When the wall clock from over Red's shoulder stops ticking, he doesn't know what to do anymore. He feels frozen. _This is it,_ he thinks,  _I'm stuck in a time when I don't feel fine._  Time. Time is what quantifies our consciousness. Time is forever now— Time is just a concept.  _LIVING IS JUST A CONCEPT._ (We should stop deluding ourselves.)  
  
"This is your fault," he hisses, low.  
  
"Okay," the other man says, quiet as he feels the flush of Green's skin against him. " _Okay_."  
  
He pulls at the stupid red vest again. "Why does he love  _you?_ " His fingers twitch against the cloth, tears staining the red into garnet. "I could give you all the love you fucking  _need._ Get your own fucking grandfather, you  _asshole_."  
  
" _I'M SICK OF THIS. OF ME. US. YOU— I AM SO, SO FUCKING SICK OF YOU._ "  
  
He realizes he doesn't know where he is. (He's in his head, like they all tell him he shouldn't be. He's in his head. He's in his head. He's in—)  
  
His knuckles collide against the other's chest, over and over and over until he realizes the red isn't just in his eyes anymore. His fist is sore but stubborn. One last punch; he throws it, just for good measure. "You want to be Champion so bad?  _Go fucking nuts._ You can have it, I don't give a damn, but you could have let him  _love me_ for ten fucking minutes, you know?"  
  
The silence rests between them like his nose brushes against Red's neck.  
  
His breathing shallows, picks up in pace.  
  
A sob cracks his lips open. He can feel the salt in his tears sting where his heart ache is.  
  
His shoulders shake. His lips quiver even when the sound from his throat dies out.  
  
Green lets his eyelids bring him into the darkness as Red pulls him into their room. The pillows are memory foam, but he doesn't think he'll remember any of this in the morning. The covers are soft. The bed is warm. He dissolves his anger, his frustrations into the fluidity of Red's touch. He could drown in the middle of these arms, and he would die happy. He feels the other man's lips on his forehead before sleep overcomes him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be longer, but I'd have found a way to fuck it up. Maybe next time.


End file.
